


Comet

by bellejolras



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space Opera, F/M, M/M, Multi, i tagged all the canon ships and then some so sorry if its not heavy on the ship you wanted, most of this is canon except the parts where theyre aliens yknow, oh anatole is a tentacle sex alien so jot that down
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-11-29 09:22:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11437890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellejolras/pseuds/bellejolras
Summary: Great Comet au where everything is the same except it's a space opera





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> from my outline:  
> "start w/ Natasha & Sonya boarding a ship to Moscow- end scene w/ Where is Andrey?"
> 
> also don't get too excited, this is the prologue for the narrative but its not The Prologue. dave only wrote like 2% of the stuff in this chapter and one of it is a subtle reference to ghost quartet so let me live

The walls of the ship were white and smooth but yet seemed almost breathing, alive, as though they knew somehow the precious cargo they contained. Natasha wiped her hand on the glass window, erasing some of the condensation her breath had made.

“Sonya!” she cried suddenly. “Sonya, I can’t see them anymore! We’re really going!” This revelation seemed to come as a bit of a shock, and Natasha’s face and hands flushed, exchanging a warm brown tone for a deep pink. Sonya reached out and grasped her friend’s hand, her own blue fingers soothing Natasha’s pink ones. 

“I know,” Sonya replied, looking into Natasha’s face. “Isn’t it exciting? Moscow, for the first time in years. And just for you!”

Natasha stared back for a second, eyes glittering, and then said, “Let’s go explore!” Before Sonya could get a word in, Natasha took off down the smooth, white hallway, leaving Sonya no choice but to follow. As Natasha’s cousin and best friend, Sonya not only loved every minute the two spent together, but also took a certain pride in her self-appointed duty to take care of the girl she felt a sisterly affection towards.

A few minutes later, a winded Sonya finally caught up to her cousin, who had an odd expression on her face and whose cheeks and fingertips now glowed almost gold. Sonya could read Natasha’s chameleon emotions, and knew gold usually meant some kind of mischief or excitement. She looked at Natasha with a slow smile and asked what was going on, a playfully suspicious tone creeping into her voice.

Natasha’s back straightened at once and with an artificially formal accent she replied loudly, “Well, my deah. It is so lovely to have you on this tou-ah of this mah-velous ship. If you see, at the top of this stai-ah-case is the control room, which is of couhse really the only reason we ahh still heah!” She laughed in the same affected tone, much louder than she had intended, and immediately clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes bulging. A muffled voice from the floor above called down to the two girls, who ran off stifling giggles without hearing a word.

Once they reached a safe distance, the pair stopped to catch their breath, a flush of exertion rising over both the blue and brown cheeks. They made eye contact and then burst into laughter, allowing the joyful noise to consume their whole bodies, and collapsed to the floor in peals of laughter. Once the giggling subsided, Sonya looked at Natasha and asked, “How did you know that stuff?” 

Natasha looked at her very seriously and said, “What stuff? I made it up.” But she could barely get the words out without her straight face melting into giggles again.

It took several more minutes before either girl noticed the view outside the window their backs were up against. Sonya noticed first, and soon both of them were staring out into space, awestruck.

“It’s so… big,” Natasha managed lamely, after a long pause. “I knew it was big, but I didn’t know how…much. Do you know what I mean, Sonya?” Another pause followed, filled by stars and rocks and dark. “We’re only travelling to Moscow and I have no idea where we are,” Natasha continued. “It never felt this far before, somehow. Maybe cause we were so little back then.”

It was true, it had been many years since the Rostovs had left Moscow. Things had been different then. Not like now. For one thing, there was a war. Somewhere out in the dark, between the little lights and bits of stardust, soldiers fought and died. Her brother was out there, and… and…

Several minutes passed before Natasha spoke again, and she looked at Sonya with cheeks and hands almost as blue as her beloved cousins’. 

“Sonya,” she whispered. “Sonya, do you think he’s alright?” Sonya took her friend’s blue hands in her own. 

“Sshhh, everything will be alright.”

“I know,” said Natasha softly, trying to blink back tears. “It’s just been so long, and the war, and I’m so worried. I miss him terribly. And what if… what if something happened?” She looked out the window again, not wanting to show Sonya her tears, and whispered against the glass. “Andrey… Andrey, where are you?”

The stars twinkled off in the distance, providing no acknowledgement that they had heard Natasha’s plea. Sonya softly let go of one of Natasha’s hands and wrapped her pale blue arm around her cousin’s shoulder. And there sat the two girls, on a starship to Moscow, totally enveloped by the vastness of the universe.


	2. Pierre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so I named this one after a song too, so what? this is pretty much the song "Pierre" though
> 
> Pierre is angry-depressed and sad-depressed and also on a booze cruise through space, but not in a fun way  
> this kinda gets disjointed by the end but he's in a brain spiral so that's the deal with that

Pierre awoke suddenly to find himself in the dark. Where was he? Ah. The fucking motion sensor lights had turned off. How long had he been asleep? What time was it? He must have fallen asleep in the study again, he guessed hazily, wiping away at the corners of his mouth with one hand, and rubbing his eyes with another. He slowly lifted himself out of the stiff chair he’d fallen asleep in with his other pair of hands and yelled out into the darkness, “HEY! What time is it?”

A small robot wheeled into the room, causing the lights to turn on again. Pierre squinted, and blindly searched around him for his glasses. Damn those glasses. What was the point of having four arms if they were useless? Can’t even find his own glasses. The robot tapped Pierre on the shoulder, and he whirled around in surprise. Extended from a claw arm was the missing pair of glasses. Pierre snatched them and shoved them on his face, grumbling a thanks. What a headache he had. The little robot ignores this delayed and seemingly insincere expression of appreciation.

“You have missed customary dinner time, sir,” beeped the robot. “But if you will follow me to the dining room—“

“No, thank you,” Pierre interrupted. “I’m not too hungry right now.”

The robot made a gesture of acknowledgement. “Well,” it beeped, turning to head back out of the room, “you may want to check your messages.”

“Is there anything from Andrey this time?”

“Again, there is not. But Madam Helene is beginning to question your whereabouts, or if you have any. It might be intelligent to put her worrying to rest.”

“Thanks, okay, I’ll look at it.”

The robot rolled out of the room.

“Since when does Helene give a flying fuck what my ‘whereabouts’ are?” Pierre cleared some half-read books from the center of the holodesk and blew sideways to clear the dust. Apparently it had been longer than he’d realized since he used the desk for its intended purpose of reaching the rest of the universe outside his starship. All days and nights felt the same here in space, with only robots and books and alcohol as company.

The message from Helene was nothing exciting, a false gesture of empty affection inviting him to a dinner celebrating… something. Whatever it was, perhaps it would be nice to interact with other living beings again, and maybe spend some of his vast inheritance instead of letting it rot in vaults and Helene’s hands. What was the use of having riches if his wife just mindlessly spent it and he would never have children to carry it onwards? Some days, the fear of Helene’s financial tendencies were all that kept Pierre going. Anything to stop his wife becoming the heir to the fortune. Not that he wanted it for himself, he just didn’t want her to have it. If nothing else, she was rich enough already, always had been.

A thought, a memory entered his head, which he was unable to push away despite its unpleasantness. A vivid image of meeting Helene all those years ago, in all her glowing beauty. She really did glow, emanating light like the stars outside the window he now stared out of.

How ridiculous to think of that. What a ridiculous man he was, thinking about such foolish things, such painful youthful innocence. What he wouldn’t give to be that way again- loving, hopeful, better. So much better. Before he even knew what kinds of horrible fuck-ups he was bound for. Ridiculous.

Here he was wasting away, wasting his life away, so far from everything. (A tiny light flashed in the distance.) So far from the war. So far from Andrey. Andrey, his best friend. Andrey, who was out fighting! Doing things! Andrey, who he hadn’t heard a word from in days? Weeks? Longer? It was impossible to know. How many others, Pierre wondered, were out there doing things and hadn’t been heard from in as long as anyone could remember? How many others like Andrey? And if he even was still out there? The thought was almost too painful for Pierre to imagine. How many out there were no longer there? How many entered the world believing in things only to come out ruined?

Despite everything, Pierre told himself, I am not like that. I have aspirations still, far away and nebulous as they are. There are still things I think of that I wish I could somehow or someday do, sometimes. How I want to do something! And how I suffer for it! How the pain of living to continue to dream can be so consuming!

But then, perhaps, does Andrey not also have things he wishes to do and be? Desires? Dreams? Surely he does.

Then do we all? Perhaps then we are similar. How ridiculous. Pitiful. How wretched we all are. We continue to live to do “something” but who of us knows what that something is? I surely don’t.

Pierre took a step backward from the window and ran into the desk. His train of thought was lost and he stared again at the screen before him.

“Well,” said Pierre out loud to no one in particular, returning to the present and suddenly exhausted. “Well I suppose I shall answer Helene. But first—“ and he reached across the table and poured himself a drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as it turns out, old prince bolkonsky isn't the only one who can't find his glasses. who knew?
> 
> also about the inheritance thing, pierre doesn't care about having the money, he just hates helene and her spending habits. mostly how often and frivolous they are to him. hopefully that was conveyed


	3. Welcome to Moscow!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Sonya arrive in Moscow, and are intimidated by Marya to varying degrees, but in a good way mostly

Natasha and Sonya practically vibrated with energy as the ship began pulling into the port. Their possessions were already being taken care of, so they only had each other to grab onto as they finally entered Moscow. And they did. The two girls clung tightly to one another as they made their way to the ship’s exit, full of excitement.

“I hope we’ll find Marya Dmitrievna alright!” Natasha said breathlessly. “I hardly remember her from when she would come to visit when we were young, and I don’t know if she remembers me either—well, both of us!” She glanced quickly at her cousin.

“I’m sure she remembers you, she’s your godmother! How could she not? And Nikolai told me that she’s been communicating with your father, so I’m sure she has seen how you look now.” Sonya hoped this was comforting, and that the mention of her cousin’s brother was not off-putting. “And anyway,” she added quickly, “even if we can’t find her, I imagine everyone still knows who she is and can point us her way.”

The girls stepped off the ship and onto the port, hands tightly gripped, and for a moment it seemed like finding Marya might actually pose a problem. Everything around them was so colorful and glittering and enormously extravagant, that Natasha’s face and hands began to flush and her eyes welled up in happiness and awe. She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to take in everything around her, the glamour and lushness of the moment. A few seconds later, she opened her eyes again, meditation broken by a squeeze from Sonya’s blue hand in hers.

And then—they saw her. Once the girls’ eyes caught Marya Dmitrievna, it was impossible to think they could have missed her before. She was enormous, towering over the rest of the waiting and swarming populace, and seemed to float on the air, the hem of her dress suspended on a soft cloud several inches off the ground, which only added to her stature and mystery. If Natasha and Sonya had not already felt small in the sparkling presence of Moscow, they surely did standing in front of Marya. Luckily, she spotted the girls at the same time they saw her.

“Ah, there you are!” Marya’s voice boomed out as she seemed to float towards them and reached her arms out as if to give them a hug, despite the physical impossibility of such an embrace.

Natasha stared up at her godmother for a moment, awestruck, and then flushing deep magenta did a little curtsy. “Marya Dmitrievna Akhrosimova,” she said, recognizing the being in front of her, as she remembered was the expectation.

Marya laughed. “Countess Natalya Ilyinichna Rostova,” she said, and nodded her head in recognition of her goddaughter. “And please, Marya is fine.”

Natasha flushed a bit more. “Oh!” she said, “you must also call me Natasha.”

Sonya took her turn to do the polite curtsy and repeated Marya’s full name to her as Natasha had done. Sonya did not blush but was truthfully much more frightened of Marya than her cousin was.

“Ah, Sofia Alexandrovna..Rostova,” Marya replied, nodding her head again but putting a fraction of a pause before the last name. Whether intentionally or not, it came across to Sonya as a mild snub, though she had long since learned to ignore such things. 

“Please,” Sonya replied, as clearly and unshaken as she could in front of such a presence, “you must call me Sonya.”

Marya clapped her hands once. “Very well! Now that’s all settled, come along!” She smiled down kindly at the girls and turned to walk away from the ship which had brought them to Moscow. “Let’s go find that transit ship. Your things will already be loaded by the time we get there. Oh, you must be exhausted from the journey! Well, we just have to go a bit farther but the ship we take to my home will have proper tea and much more comfortable seating, and oh! how I look forward to getting to know you both better.” Marya turned around to address this last sentiment to both girls, but looked at Natasha as she spoke.

Sonya grasped her cousin’s brightly colored hand tighter in her own as they pushed through the throngs of port crowd to keep pace with Marya Dmitrievna. Finally, the three arrived at the transit ship and settled in comfortably. It was not too long of a ride to Marya’s home, but long enough that the comforts provided on the way were much appreciated. The tea, most of all, seemed to work wonders on the cousins, who hadn’t even realized their exhaustion.

“Well!” Marya proclaimed after a while. “Now, let’s talk.”

Natasha looked up at her across the table they were all seated at, positively glowing.

“I know about your engagement, of course,” Marya continued, “and congratulations on that, you’ve really done well for yourself. I know your father is also quite pleased, as indeed I am. It’s good that you are able to help in such a way, I know all about the finances and everything. But anyway, let’s not get onto that!” She laughed for a moment, loudly and good-natured. “It’s been sneaking into the gossip in Moscow too, your engagement that is, not that I gossip but it’s all the women in society ever do, gossip and cry, and the former is more entertaining to eavesdrop on occasionally than the latter is. Anyway, you seem to be likely to attract some attention while you’re here. It’s tremendously exciting for you I’m sure.

Here Marya paused to sip more of her tea, but quickly continued. “Well,” she said, setting the teacup down again, “I know Andrey has been gone for months but once we all get settled in I will help you find your way to meet his family. Ah, what a family to marry into. The old prince can be… difficult, but of course Andrey is by no means a child and can do what he wishes. But it’s better to enter a family invited and welcomed, you’re not just marrying Andrey after all, so at least there is his sister, Princess Mary. You’ll charm her, I’m sure of it, dear, and once she loves you, her father will also, and there will be no trouble at all!”

At this she clapped her hands together as she had earlier. “Ah! A wedding. My dear Natalya, what a lucky godmother you make me.” She looked down lovingly at Natasha, who flushed pink, happily.

“Marya,” Natasha asked, eyes glittering, “tell me more about society. When will I meet them?”

Marya laughed again, as she had before. “Soon enough, my dear. There is no rush.”

But Natasha hardly heard her, as at that moment, Sonya tapped her arm, and as she looked out the window with her cousin, Marya’s home was quickly coming into view.

Marya threw her arms out again as she had at the port. “Aha! Welcome to Moscow!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Nikolai isn't in GC but listen I love him and so does Sonya


	4. A Reunion, pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> meet the kuragins & co  
> Anatole gets some (actually a lot)

It was times like this that reminded Anatole how glad he was to have tentacles. And today was especially lucky. Warmth surrounded him from all sides, all appendages buried deep in soft flesh. He leaned across the side of the bed and with his unoccupied hand reached for a mug, which he raised to his lips. Despite any intentions of caution he may have had, the drink sloshed and dripped, staining his starkly pale chest, the sheets, and the hair of the girl most directly beneath him, who was giving him head. 

She looked up and him, batted her eyes for a moment, and then exchanged her mouth for her hand. She rose up to her knees and pressed her mouth to his chest, slowly licking the wine off. She made her way up to his neck and kissed it roughly. Anatole thought vaguely about the evidence that would be left behind, but seconds later none of it mattered. The girl pushed her mouth to his, hot and wet, and he wasted no time involving their tongues as well.

He could taste everything.

Kissing deeper, sparks of pleasure began to jolt up and down Anatole’s back where the tentacles met the spine, and down to his groin, where the girl’s hand still pushed back and forth, relentless. He moaned into her mouth, adding to the chorus already in the room, and suddenly, everything exploded.

Anatole let his head fall back and let out a ragged breath and a quiet but drawn-out expletive. It had been a while since he’d come hard enough to see stars.

A knock sounded at the door, breaking into his moment of bliss. Anatole turned around to see who it was, and at first all he could see was a glow of light from the doorway.  
A smile crept onto his face and he ran a hand through his shock of white hair, causing it to stick up in a way that looked almost intentional.

“Dear sister,” he said, still catching his breath.

Helene stepped into the room, glowing light with her. She smiled softly, looking at the mess of bodies and sheets and discarded clothes before her. How typical of Anatole, she thought. The corner of her mouth barely twitched, but the effect was dazzling.

“Dear brother.” They were not truly related, but were close enough and similar enough looking that the nicknames didn’t seem unfounded. It also freaked people out sometimes, and that was a great source of entertainment.

Anatole leaned forward and pulled her forward by the hand. Her hand was so dark in comparison to his, and so perfectly sculpted, objectively beautiful. He kissed her hand and then let go of it, looking up at her. He was still almost fully exposed on the bed.

“You know I have no issue with your lifestyle or choices, but we have a guest and it might be good of you to clean yourself up before greeting them.” She looked down at him, ignoring his nudity. “Wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.”

Anatole was baffled—no one who would come to visit had any new judgements to make, and he didn’t care about the old ones anyway. His confusion must have shown because Helene continued, “That is to say, wouldn’t want anyone getting jealous.” She winked, and made a gesture to the many lounging girls, which clearly said: “please make yourselves presentable and leave this room, quickly”.

Anatole’s eyes widened. “Helene, who is here?”

“An old friend is all. I will send him up to see you. Maybe put on some clothes though?” She turned and left the room, leaving the door open behind her.

Anatole laid back on the bed, enveloped by the lushness of the pillows as the girls all dressed haphazardly and left the room. He picked up his pants from the floor and put them on without getting up, and was just pulling his shirt back over his head when he heard a familiar voice at the door.

Immediately, he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you thought this was M rated just wait dude


	5. A Reunion, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a continuation of last chapter  
> this is the very M rated one so buckle up

“Anatole!” called out the figure in the doorway, and walked over to the bed, arms spread open and exuding confidence. He leaned down and gave Anatole a massive hug.

“Dolokhov, you’re home.”

Dolokhov broke away from the hug and looked him over. “Right I am! You know,” he said, smirking, “you smell terrible. And I can’t imagine that with your current state and the giggling I heard all down the hallway that you hardly missed me at all.” Dolokhov nudged Anatole over on the bed and climbed in too. He leaned over Anatole and said right in his ear, “I think even Helene missed me more than you did.”

Anatole turned his face away and scoffed. “Yeah, fuck you, Fedya.”

Dolokhov sat up slightly and pretending to be shocked, asked, “Oh, didn’t those girls down the hall just take care of that?”

Anatole pulled Dolokhov back down to the bed and murmured, “No, you idiot. They can’t do what you do.”

Perfectly positioned, Dolokhov pressed his lips to Anatole’s neck. Anatole let out a quiet sigh, and then—

“Hold on, what’s this?” Dolokhov sat up and gingerly touched the other side of Anatole’s neck.

The bruises must have already begun to set. Pale as he was, Anatole should have known this would get him into trouble, and Dolokhov saw all of this in Anatole’s face.

“Ha ha! Well, you can’t go around looking so…uneven.” Dolokhov leaned down and kissed Anatole’s neck again, much less gently. Anatole moaned softly, almost inaudible, but Dolokhov heard. “Hmm you like that don’t you?” Anatole smiled, eyes closed, and let out a soft “yeah”.

He reached down and tugged at the waistband of Dolokhov’s pants. Dolokhov pulled them off himself without interruption, and then pulled up at the bottom of Anatole’s shirt. He drew it over Anatole’s head, but left the arms intact.

Pinned to the bed, Anatole asked quietly, “I wonder why Helene had me put my clothes back on before you came up?”

“So I could rip them off you,” Dolokhov growled, and kissed down to Anatole’s collarbone. Suddenly he stopped and sat up again to make eye contact. “No tentacle business today though, ok?”

Anatole shook his head. “No, they’re tired anyway. Safely put away.”

Dolokhov nodded and resumed kissing down Anatole’s torso, tasting the ghost of the wine from earlier, until he got to Anatole’s waist. Then he moved back to Anatole’s face and kissed him on the corner of the mouth. “Do you mind?” he asked, hands on the waistband of Anatole’s pants. Anatole made a noise of approval, and off came the pants.

For a second, Anatole just laid there, only his arms covered, and Dolokhov looked down in wonder at the beautiful being in front of him. Anatole chuckled softly. “You fool, he said. “You’re still wearing clothes. Take them off and kiss me again.”

Dolokhov wasted no time in completing this request and then they laid there together, kissing hungrily, all skin-on-skin, Dolokhov still pinning Anatole’s arms above his head with his own shirt.

“Fedya,” Anatole said between kisses, “Fedya, fuck me.”

Dolokhov smiled into the kiss. “But I don’t know where you’ve been while I was gone, and you don’t know where I’ve been.”

“That’s ok, look in there.” Anatole pointed with his chin toward a drawer next to the bed. Dolokhov reached over and pulled something out of it. He stopped for a minute to prepare everything, and then kissed Anatole again, on his lips which, blood-red, stood out sharp and beautiful from the rest of his albino face.

The feeling of Dolokhov inside him was like nothing else Anatole had ever experienced. It never was. He felt a spark of pleasure, as he had earlier, but also completely different than earlier.

“You know you’re better at this than any of those girls?” Anatole moaned. 

“Of course I’m better. They can’t do this.” Dolokhov pulled out suddenly. “But what I’m really better at—“Dolokhov moved down and took Anatole in his mouth.

And it was true—hardly a few minutes had passed before Anatole couldn’t keep himself from crying out, and everything exploded again. As he lay there, whimpering softly in pleasure, he remembered: Dolokhov could always make him see stars.

Dolokhov finished himself soon after and lay down next to Anatole on the pillow. They looked at each other, laughed softly, and then Anatole said, “Can you finish taking my shirt off now?”

His arms finally free, Anatole wrapped them around Dolokhov and pulled him in for a kiss. “I missed you mon cher,” he said. Dolokhov nuzzled into his neck, and cuddled together like that, they fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhh I cant believe I wrote this??? and some of these lines....man...unbelievable...(eyeroll.gif)  
> please leave comments ive never um written this shit before ? and there probably will be more later on so yeah lemme know what ya think !


End file.
